


Overwhelm Me

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fem Keith (Voltron), Fem Shiro (Voltron), Femslash, Genderswap, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 07, Purring Keith (Voltron), Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Service Top Keith (Voltron), Sex Pollen, Sharing a Bed, Sparring, Touch-Starved Shiro (Voltron), Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: After interacting with a newly developed alien flower meant to elevate senses and heighten adrenaline, a touch-starved Shiro starts experiencing an already intense world far, far more intensely. And it only gets worse when Keith touches her.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 242
Collections: Femsheith Exchange 2020





	Overwhelm Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hchano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hchano/gifts).



> Gift fic for [Heather](https://twitter.com/hchanooo) for the [Femsheith Exchange](https://twitter.com/femsheith)!
> 
> Your wishlist was SO *chef's kiss* and I really struggled to decide what route to go! Ultimately, I tried to include a few nods to your list, but with emphasis on the sex pollen! There's some touch starved Shiro, some bedsharing, and hurt/comfort of course! ♥ 
> 
> And a huge thanks to [Sarah](https://twitter.com/ailurea) and [Sharki](https://twitter.com/leftishark_) who helped me brainstorm ideas and settle on a route. And, for also being the best fellow mods for this event! 
> 
> Finally, eternal thanks to my beta, [Meg](https://twitter.com/kedawen), who is always a superstar.
> 
>  **Note on the mildly dubious consent tag:** The sex pollen trope has an inherent dubcon element to it because the person sex pollen'd has lower inhibitions. So, keep that in mind if you're sensitive to those types of tropes!

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” 

Shiro turns to one of the newest crew members to the Atlas, an Olkari named Lafa. She’s one of the many new recruits joining Colleen in the botany and hydroponics lab. 

She nods towards the flower before Shiro, a beautiful plant that’s deeply green and with a bloom that’s deep purple, so deep that it’s almost black. 

“It is,” Shiro says agreeably. “Is it new?”

Shiro’s spent the better part of an hour asking the botanists questions about their progress as part of her weekly rounds as the Captain. In contrast to Colleen’s utterly exhaustion from Shiro’s enthusiasm, Lafa is eager to keep engaging. 

The hydroponics lab is awash in greenery, beautiful and strangely humid. It’s where the Atlas gets most of her supplemental oxygen supply as well as grows most of the food for the intergalactic crew, so Shiro should be used to the strange and alien plants accompanying the Terran plants.

This flower, though— Shiro can’t stop staring. 

“This one is something we’ve been developing here in the lab,” Lafa says. 

Lafa, in contrast to the other scientists Shiro’s just exhausted for a varga, is eager and young and seems delighted to speak with the Captain of the new Coalition ship she’s joined. The Atlas crew in general is making good progress on developing so much technology and bringing on new members in anticipation for winning this fight, and it makes Shiro smile to see Lafa’s enthusiasm even in the midst of so much hardship. 

“It’s beautiful,” Shiro says. 

Lafa beams. “It’s quite the head-turner, I think! I never knew you were so interested in flowers, Captain.” 

Shiro smiles, hands tucked behind her back. She’s not about to admit that the real reason she’s stopped to admire this flower is because the color so perfectly matches Keith’s eyes. 

Most things remind her of Keith. 

Shiro listens as Lafa describes the plant— a hybrid of an Olkari rose with a Galra fern, combined with its own independent, unique properties. Lafa rattles off the history of the two plants and how she and the other scientists managed to splice them together despite their wildly divergent gene sequence and planets of origin. 

“We’re hoping that it’ll give everyone who smells it a boost,” Lafa says, “and heighten the senses. It’ll help with reaction time and awareness. We thought it’d be good for training.” 

Shiro nods, intrigued. 

“So it’s similar to caffeine, then? Or adrenaline?” Shiro asks, curious despite it all. She’s no expert in plants or botany, but she’ll never deny herself an opportunity to learn something new about their Coalition partners and the universe at large. 

Lafa considers that, her face scrunching up in a curious way. “Yes,” she says finally. “I suppose it’s like your planet’s adrenaline… or, endorphins, perhaps? Caffeine is from your plants, yes? I’m still getting used to Terran plants, myself.” 

“Of course,” Shiro says with a nod. “I think this will come in handy, then. Thank you.” 

Olkari don’t blush in the traditional sense, but Shiro’s learned that their eyes widen whenever they’re embarrassed or pleased. Lafa does it now and it makes her look like a wide-eyed fawn. It’s strangely charming and Shiro smiles further before turning her attention back towards the plant. 

She touches it, hesitating only to make sure Lafa doesn’t protest, running her fingers over the bloom. It really does look like a strange sort of orchid, elegant and graceful in the quiet way plants are. 

“Would you like to take one, Captain?” Lafa asks. 

“What?” Shiro asks, turning to look at her again.

Lafa gestures to the plant in its little pot. “This is just one of our earlier hybrids and we have plenty of others to breed from.” 

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for me to take a plant from the lab,” Shiro says, although her eyes flit back towards the flower. She has a ridiculous urge to grow multiples of these and make a bouquet of it, something she could present to Keith. 

_They reminded me of your eyes,_ she’d say. _They’re almost as beautiful, at least._

Keith would kiss her and—

Well, no sense in imagining what would never happen. The reality is that the plant would sit on Shiro’s table in her quarters and almost die until Atlas reminds Shiro to water it. 

“This is my project,” Lafa says, picking up the plant and holding it out to Shiro. “So, I have the authority to give it away. Consider it a ‘thank you’— for always listening to our plans instead of just signing off our projects… That’s what most Captains would do.” She holds the plant out, gesturing, almost insistent. “Also, it’s rude to refuse a gift from an Olkari.”

“Funny,” Shiro says, laughing. “I’m not sure I’ve heard that particular fact about your culture.” 

Lafa laughs too, still holding the plant out. She looks pleased with Shiro when she finally relents and takes the plant from her. Lafa beams, hand brushing over Shiro’s as she pulls back. 

And just like so many times before, ever since Shiro woke up in this body, the softest touch of Lafa’s fingers on her palm nearly suffocates Shiro. She’s gotten better about not showing it on her face. Nobody’s really noticed her reactions to touch, which is just the way she likes it. She’s an inscrutable wall, a powerful captain who needs nothing. The last thing she needs is for her crew to know just how rattled by touch she can be. Any touch, no matter how small. 

“Alright,” Shiro says as she looks at the flower in her hands. “Thank you. Does it have a name?” 

“We’re calling it the Ciho flower,” Lafa says. “It means ‘energy’ in Olkari.” 

“Appropriate,” Shiro says. “Thank you, Lafa. I’ll take good care of it.” 

-

Her rounds over, Shiro heads back to her quarters with her new gift. Despite her hedging before, Shiro’s happy for the present. The color really is the perfect recreation of Keith’s eyes, and the stupid, romantic part of Shiro likes having that reminder.

She hardly needs the reminder, of course. As if she could ever forget anything about Keith. 

Longing is such a fundamental part of her now, Shiro can’t imagine what it’d be like to spend a day without thinking of Keith in every moment. 

Shiro sniffs the flower curiously as she walks. She’s not sure how fast-acting the particular adrenaline qualities of the plant might be, so she isn’t surprised when nothing happens. Having an energy boost and heightened senses could come in handy, of course. During their fight for the universe, they can take anything they can get. She understands Lafa’s logic in cultivating such a plant. If it works, it really will prove useful for training or even for battle. 

Colleen’s created a great team down in the botany lab, Shiro thinks with a fond smile. The entire crew is really coming along. The Paladins themselves are growing stronger every day, their bond in Voltron undeniable. They’ve been training with the Atlas as they travel, preparing, and Shiro feels good about their chances, even if everything feels so insurmountable. 

Shiro’s hardly been sleeping and can really only focus on these preparations. She knows she’s overworking herself, can feel Atlas’ disapproval at night when she starts purposefully dimming the lights so Shiro can’t keep reading on her PADD. But it’s important work and Shiro’s never been one to be idle. 

The Paladins don’t let her stay workaholic for long, especially Keith. They have weekly game nights which mostly consist of Monsters and Mana sessions. Shiro loves it and loves getting to play with everyone. Just last week, they’d managed to work through the time loop their characters had fallen into thanks to a well-timed roll from Keith’s barbarian that just managed to keep Shiro’s fifth Paladin character from falling into an abyssal void and dying a tragic death. 

It'd been good. It’d been fun. Shiro still remembers the way it felt for Keith to bump shoulder to shoulder with her, laughing and leaning into her space as they teased Coran over the character design of the newest mustached tavern-keeper. 

Shiro can feel the soft breeze of oxygen rushing through the Atlas, kissing across her cheeks and her hands. She closes her eyes briefly to steady herself. Sometimes even the rush of air through the hallways is enough to overwhelm Shiro, if she focuses on it too much. 

When she first returned from the astral plane, everything was bright, loud, nearly suffocating. She was aware of everything— the weight of her hands on her thighs as she sat, the rush of breath through her lungs, expanding and depressing her chest, the feeling of her feet on the ground, the drag of the Paladin armor’s undersuit against her skin. The most minute and mundane touches, things she took for granted when she was alive, suddenly felt like the center of the galaxy. Shiro had never been aware of the feeling of blinking, of her eyelashes dusting across her cheeks, but she knows it now. 

She gets back to her quarters and spends a good twenty minutes fussing around trying to find the perfect spot for the cohi plant. She’ll need to message Lafa about care instructions, since she has no idea what an alien plant hybrid could possibly need in terms of artificial sunlight and watering. She knows orchids are notoriously finicky and she has no idea if an alien-orchid is similar or if this cohi would even have anything remotely orchid-like about it beyond looks. 

She smells it a few times, trying to pinpoint the scent it gives off, but it’s impossible to discern much beyond floral. Still, it’s a pleasant scent and Shiro feels pleased with her ultimate spot for it beside her bed, directly under her reading light. It’s a softer light, so it’ll get direct exposure without it being too harsh. She hopes that’s a good middle ground for now, before she can find more focused care instructions.

This is how Keith finds her. Shiro knows it’s Keith precisely because she doesn’t knock, just inputting her code. Atlas knows to let her in, regardless, and Shiro turns towards her friend with a smile. 

Keith is casually devastating today, as she is all days, wearing her uniform but shunning any sort of regulation, as always. Her hair’s curling around her shoulders, growing out now since their return to space, her collar crooked and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, exposing her forearms and her favored fingerless gloves. Her top button is undone and Shiro can’t stop staring. 

Shiro could stare at her forever. But she’s also gotten very good at not obviously staring. 

Keith leans against the doorframe, smiling at Shiro. “And here I thought I’d have to drag you from the bridge. Imagine my surprise when Atlas told me you were here, instead.” 

“I know how to take breaks sometimes,” Shiro says but the pointed arch of Keith’s eyebrow is a fair and damning silent rebuttal. Shiro sighs. “Ready for dinner?”

“Mmhm, and I _know_ you are, too,” Keith says, straightening up from her casual lean. “Since someone skipped lunch.” 

Shiro sends a silent mental pout in Atlas’ general sentience direction. He feels her quiver of protest that she wasn’t the one who snitched this time. 

“Allura mentioned it,” Keith says, reading Shiro’s expression. “You stood her up.”

Shiro closes her eyes and flinches. “Oh, shit. That was today.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says and loops her arm through Shiro’s once she’s close enough. As usual, Shiro suppresses the pleasant shiver the touch summons up, the luxurious feeling of Keith’s arm on hers, her body pressing into hers. It’s near overwhelming in the way touching Keith always is. 

Keith’s touch is forever welcomed. When she first returned from the astral plane, just the feeling of air in her lungs made her want to sob. She never realized she _felt_ air passing through her nose whenever she breathed until that was the only thing she could focus on. All those feelings dimmed with time, but Keith’s touch is still electrifying. Shiro isn’t fully used to the touch, but it doesn’t leave her feeling quite so devastated as before.

Shiro sighs. “I’ll have to make it up to her…”

“You can do that by eating when you’re supposed to eat,” Keith says. “I’m going to make sure you eat a me-sized portion this time.”

Keith is like a black hole when it comes to food. She often eats third or fourth portions whenever she can get away with it, seemingly forever hungry. Keith claims it’s a combination of Galra metabolism and a deep-seated fear of never having enough food. That last reasoning is devastating for Shiro to think about. She makes sure she has snacks around for Keith, even if Shiro tends to forget to eat them herself until Keith insists. 

Dinner is a pleasant affair and Keith does indeed shovel more helpings of food onto Shiro’s plate as they go. Atlas seems to conspire with Keith, making sure there’s always more food coming her way on a literal conveyer belt. Shiro has to laugh at it all, amused more than frustrated. It’s just a sign of the people around her caring for her. Once, it might have made her feel belittled and babied, but she knows that it’s just one of the many ways Keith shows her care for her. 

She feels fuzzy at the edges, almost. Keith is a perfect presence beside her, radiating heat. Shiro wants to fall into her orbit. She has to fight against the urge to lean in and smell Keith’s hair several times. 

“Are you done for the evening?” Keith asks midway through her third helping of food. 

“Almost,” Shiro says. “I thought I could stop by for Delta Shift and—” She stops when Keith gives her a look. “Or… I guess I’m done for the night.”

“That’s more like it,” Keith says with an approving nod. “I was going to hit the gym later, if you wanted to keep me company.” 

“That sounds perfect, Keith,” Shiro says. 

“Don’t say that or I’ll hold you to it. You’re not allowed to bail on me to do paperwork or something.” 

Shiro holds her hands up. “I swear. I will work out with you. I give Atlas full permission to funnel me bodily onto the training deck.”

That makes Keith laugh. “That, or I can sic the wolf on you.”

“Either way, I’ll be there,” Shiro agrees with an answering laugh. 

-

Despite Shiro’s forgetfulness and tendency to overwork herself, she very rarely shrugs off a chance to spend time with Keith. Any time Shiro gets is precious, considering the trajectory of her life— her very death— thus far. Time with Keith is especially dear, something Shiro never wants to take for granted. 

Shiro never wants to lose that sense of wonder at being alive again. The mere sensation of touch or experiencing all her senses at once might be overwhelming sometimes, but Shiro will take that over the void any day. She’ll take any chance she can to be with Keith. Time with Keith is cherished. 

Yes, even when it’s just doing pushups in the gym. 

Shiro can’t remember the last time she trained at Atlas’ gym rather than just doing her usual routine in her quarters. She thinks her crew is shocked to see her actually roaming around in casual, workout clothes, too. They stare after her as she heads to the training mats, where Keith is already loosening up.

Keith straightens from a squat when she spots Shiro, flashing her a wide, delighted grin. “Hey, you made it.” 

“I said I would,” Shiro says. “Give me a few minutes to warm up. You want to run or…?” 

“I thought we could spar,” Keith says, lunging from one leg to the next, stretching out her hamstrings. “If you’re up for it, Old Timer.” 

Shiro barks a surprised laugh at the familiar nickname, dropping down into a crouch and mimicking Keith, starting to warm up and stretch. Shiro does the bare minimum, almost distracted by the feeling of her muscles pulling taut, the sensation of balancing on the balls of her feet. Even the most mundane things feel impossibly cosmic. 

Shiro feels goosebumps rise on her skin at just the thought of sparring with Keith, of feeling the way their bodies move together. Shiro can handle sparring with Keith, it’s something she enjoys, but she feels a burst of anticipation rising in her chest, twisted up and coiling. 

“Yeah, sparring works,” Shiro says, her voice coming out even. She’s good at compartmentalizing. “I can take it.” 

Once they’re properly warmed up, Shiro kicks off her shoes and waits for Keith on the mat. The feeling of her bare feet against the mats is nearly distracting, but watching Keith sling her hair up into a half ponytail brings her back to the moment easily. Ponytail secure, Keith then tightens up her gloves. Both actions are simple, things she’s seen Keith do countless times before, but this time as Shiro watches, she’s struck by the devastating desire to lick the back of Keith’s neck, to suck her fingers into her mouth. 

Shiro feels heat rise in her cheeks. She’s used to these types of thoughts, too, but they’re not usually so intense and intrusive. She clears her throat as Keith toes off her shoes, her hair already spilling out of the ponytail to curl along the nape of her neck. 

“Ready?” Keith asks, grins, and then dives at Shiro before she can even answer. 

This is also typical of Keith. It’s been some time since they last sparred, but they fall back into their rhythm easily. It’s a push and pull with them, more like a dance. One that Shiro loves to fall into, a sweep of her leg, a dart of Keith to the side, springing off her hands to dodge. How she twists and pivots and comes rushing back, trying to grapple with Shiro. 

Shiro plays the defensive game. She always does. She ducks and weaves, darting around Keith’s quick jabs and punches. Tonight, Keith can’t land a hit on her. The rush of air from the force of Keith’s high-kick feels like a caress against Shiro’s cheek and her breathing comes fast, but she still manages to duck and roll away. Her shoulder on the mat is a luxurious drag. She’s practically panting by the end of the first round and they haven’t landed a single hit on one another.

Shiro can be defensive in sparring, but she’s not usually this defensive. And she doesn’t usually play it out to the point of getting winded. The point is to wear Keith out and then come in aggressive with the offense. Sometimes it works to pin Keith, but lately not even that is enough to exhaust Keith and her stamina. 

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith says, her grin all fangs and her eyes wild, delighted by their dance. “You can do better than that—” 

She dives at Shiro then and manages to get a hit on her. It’s hardly anything, just a shoulder-check, but it catches Shiro before she can try to dodge. She goes down onto the mat, Keith tumbling after her and pinning her down. 

Shiro gasps, a punched-out sound like she’s in pain. It’s the wrong sound. 

Keith jerks her hands back immediately, lurching off Shiro’s body. “Fuck— did I hurt you?” 

Her voice is tinged with alarm, obviously taken aback by the sound Shiro’s just made, the shudder that ripples down Shiro’s entire body. Keith’s hands hover, like she wants to touch but is afraid of where. Shiro shivers, just a little, with the strange expectation of touch— of how close Keith’s hands are. 

It wasn’t pain that rushed out of her, she knows. It was the tender shock of Keith’s body pressed against hers. Just touch. Shiro’s so unused to touch. 

It doesn’t usually hit her so hard. It doesn’t usually make her react so bodily. 

“No,” Shiro says. “Sorry, no, I’m okay.” 

Keith doesn’t move to pin her back down, doesn’t move to do anything. She doesn’t look convinced and Shiro’s not sure what it is she can do or say to assuage her. She’s very good at pretending, but now that Keith’s keyed into that something is wrong, Shiro knows she’ll be looking too closely. 

Shiro’s heart pounds. Her cheeks feel so warm. Her entire body feels warm, now that she stops to think about it. Her body shivers with the phantom sensation of Keith’s touch, brief though it was. The weight of her body against hers, the smell of her hair, the huff of her breath ghosting across Shiro’s skin. 

“I really am fine,” Shiro says, sitting up. She balances her weight against her hands. Keith kneels before her, frowning. “Want to go again?” 

Keith grunts. She rolls back onto her feet, fluid and catlike. She still looks disbelieving but holds her hand out to Shiro to help her back onto her feet.

Shiro knows it’s a mistake to take her hand as soon as she does it. She gasps again as Keith pulls her effortlessly onto her feet, her entire body shuddering with the force of it.

“Shiro!” Keith says, snatching her hand back. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“It’s nothing—”

“Shiro!” Keith says again, desperation coloring her voice. Shiro wonders if her eyes have always been such a deep, cosmic color or if Shiro’s only just now noticing how deep it goes. Everything feels heightened. 

Shiro knows she can’t lie about it, not directly. She can be good about omission, about not hinting at what’s going on for her. But she knows she can’t omit this, can’t pretend it’s not happening. She can’t outright lie to Keith. 

Shiro almost sighs. She’s gotten so good about hiding this. And now all she’s going to do is worry Keith needlessly. 

“It’s always like this,” Shiro says, trying to keep her voice as calm and neutral as she can. It’s hard when her heart is beating so fast, when she feels so sweaty and buzzy under her skin. 

“What?” Keith asks. She sweeps her eyes down over Shiro, frowning. She looks so distressed that it breaks Shiro’s heart a little. “You really are injured, aren’t you? Your arm—” 

“Not that,” Shiro says. “Keith, no,” she murmurs, stepping closer and dropping her voice down. She doesn’t think anybody else in the gym is close enough to overhear, but she doesn’t want to risk it. “I’m not injured. I swear.” 

Keith’s mouth screws into a thin line, her eyes wide and unhappy. 

“It’s been like this for a while,” Shiro says. 

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, her voice hushed and concerned. 

Shiro hesitates. She hasn’t exactly said anything and she knows how Keith will react if she says this now. But Keith stares right at her, eyes so dark and so intense, and Shiro knows she’s never been able to refuse Keith anything. 

“I’ve felt this way since… waking up,” Shiro says. “I mean, not like this-this, but in general. Even just… the slightest touch makes me feel…” 

She struggles to put it to words and so trails off ineffectually, frowning to herself. 

“Shiro,” Keith says.

“Everything is so overwhelming all the time,” Shiro says. “I can usually manage it. I’m not hurt. Just— it’s a lot. Sometimes. It surprises me.” 

Keith seems to have heard enough. She makes the softest sound of distress. “ _Shiro,_ ” she says. “You should have told me.” 

Shiro wants to laugh. The sound that punches out of her is anything but amused. “It’s strange to just say _I want to be touched all the time because it’s never enough but when I’m touched, it’s nearly too much,_ isn’t it?” 

“Not to me,” Keith says fiercely. “You’re never strange to me.” 

And then she reaches out, touching Shiro. It’s the slightest touch and she hesitates just before she grips Shiro’s arm, but it sends bolts of sensation shooting through Shiro. She sucks in a sharp breath, shivering. Keith’s fingerless gloves prevent it from being outright skin on skin, but Shiro’s body sparks to life beneath the softest glide of Keith’s fingertips against the soft hair on Shiro’s forearm. 

Shiro’s mouth goes dry, her body shuddering. She feels breathless. She feels transcendent. 

Keith’s touched her plenty of times since she’s woken up, just gentle touches like this— on the arm, the shoulder, hands brushing. She’s been able to handle those just fine without any visual response, nothing verbal like a shuddering gasp. And yet, somehow, now, it makes her feel like she’s about to shake apart. She wants it so badly, wants to feel it so badly, and doesn’t want Keith to let go. 

“Oh,” Keith whispers, stunned as she watches Shiro with that same intensity with which she constantly studies Shiro. “Oh— fuck, how did I not notice this?” 

“I didn’t want you to notice,” Shiro says. 

Keith looks like she might cry. She doesn’t let go of Shiro, doesn’t take her eyes away from her as she lifts her hand and places her fingers in her mouth, whistling for the wolf. Shiro tries very hard not to stare too long and too blatantly at the luxurious curve of Keith’s mouth around her fingers.

The wolf appears in a flash of light and Keith’s hand drops down, curling tight in his mane. 

“Take us to Shiro’s room,” Keith tells him. 

Shiro barely has time to process the feeling of moving through time and space, popping into and out of existence, before she’s back in her quarters. The wolf yips quietly and bumps his nose against Keith’s hip, tail wagging when Keith scritches behind his ears in thanks. 

“Good job, buddy,” Keith says. “Hope I didn’t wake you.” 

The wolf licks Keith’s hand and flickers out of existence again, back to wherever he was before being summoned. Shiro still feels dizzy from the sudden interdimensional travel, her entire body buzzing. Keith is still gripping her arm. It is the most profoundly distracting thing she’s ever felt.

Back in her quarters, smelling that unique scent of the not-orchid, Shiro realizes— her senses are heightened because of the flower. It makes more sense than something just being wrong today. Of course heightened senses would make it impossible for Shiro to hide what she normally can keep such a heavy lid on. Of course the heightened senses meant to assist in training would feel doubly as strong for Shiro, who feels heightened even on a normal day. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers.

Keith steps to her, both hands touching her then, one hand still on her arm but the other cupping her shoulder. It’s a friendly touch, tentative but platonic, and Shiro despairs even as she covets the connection.

“Shiro,” Keith says, unafraid of being overheard now. “You should have told me this was happening. You know I would have helped you, you know I—” 

“I know,” Shiro says, her voice sounding wobbly. “God. I know, Keith. I just…” She ducks her head, her breath rattling out of her. “It’s— too strange to ask for it, isn’t it?” 

“Never,” Keith says forcefully. “It would never be strange.” Keith grips her shoulder so tight that Shiro nearly whimpers. “I would do anything for you, Shiro. All you have to do is ask it. Every time. I swear, if I can help you—”

“I know,” Shiro says, staring down at her feet, still bare. They left her shoes behind in the gym. “I know you would, Keith.” 

“I will from now on,” Keith says, and her hands drop to touch Shiro’s hands, gripping tight enough that Shiro nearly cries. “I’ll touch you whenever you want. You deserve to feel everything, Shiro.” 

“Keith—”

“If you want that,” Keith adds, brow crinkling up in thought. “I don’t know if this is painful, if you want _me_ to—” 

“Yes,” Shiro says, the word punching out of her before she can stop it or swallow it back. Everything inside her feels alive. The only thing she wants is to feel Keith. “Please,” she says, voice low as a whisper. “Please, Keith.” 

“How?” Keith asks.

Perfect, wonderful Keith. She is always so earnest, too earnest and too kind. Shiro doesn’t deserve her or her loyalty, especially because of the things the simple question summons up for Shiro. The things she could say, the things she could beg for. She swallows them all back and instead grips Keith’s hands tightly. 

“Anything is fine,” she whispers and sounds far too breathless. 

Keith goes to her then, lurching into her arms and hugging her tight. It presses them chest to chest and Shiro forgets how to breathe, forgets how to move. The only thing she can concentrate on is the feeling of Keith’s presence, the warmth of her body, the press of them together. She can feel Keith breathing. She can feel Keith’s hair against her neck as Keith buries her face against Shiro’s shoulder. The slope of her nose against her clavicle. The grip of her hands in Shiro’s workout shirt. Everything. It’s everything.

Shiro wonders if it’s possible to cry because touch feels so good. She wonders if she’ll ever stop being surprised by the feeling of it, of realizing just how empty she’s felt since awakening. 

She’s grateful, so grateful. 

She grips Keith tight, hugging her, clinging to her. She’s so grateful to be alive. So grateful to be in Keith’s life.

She noses into Keith’s hair and inhales. Her body shivers to life. 

“It’s not always like this,” Shiro whispers. Keith hums in concern and Shiro nods towards the flower. “The labs are experimenting—” 

“Did you fucking volunteer to exp—” 

“No,” Shiro cuts in quickly. She grips Keith tight, desperate not to shiver apart. “I just— no.” She gulps down air, feeling overwhelmed again. “That flower there, it heightens senses and I think I just… smelled it too much.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says, exasperated. She draws away from the hug, much to Shiro’s distress, and peers up at her. “Please stop smelling alien flowers, then.” 

Shiro wants to laugh. She trembles, steadying only when Keith touches her shoulders. “Sorry.” 

“Come on,” Keith says quietly, stepping away to pick up the flower and move it to the other side of the room. Shiro’s pretty sure Keith holds her breath as she does it. Keith looks at her as she returns, studying her. “Lie down,” Keith says, pointing. “You’re resting until this passes.”

“Will you—” 

“I’ll stay,” Keith agrees, and corrals Shiro towards the bed. 

Shiro goes willingly, dropping down onto the bed and hissing out at the feeling of the blankets beneath her palms. It feels like too much. She shudders as Keith reaches for her, arranging her on the bed. 

Keith stands over her, clearly torn on what to do. 

“Stay,” Shiro says, unable to hold back that desire now, reaching for Keith. She catches her by the hip and tugs once. 

Keith goes to her then. She lies out on the bed and curls her body around Shiro, spooning her. Shiro has to resist squirming back against her, rocking her body up against Keith’s, until she’s just part of Keith. She can feel every inch of Keith’s body behind her, the strength of her arms wrapped around Shiro’s middle, hands flat on her belly. 

It's just Keith being a good friend, Shiro reasons. She can’t look into this. She can’t be hopeful. Her body is about to burst apart with the need to be so close to Keith, but this is just Keith’s way. She’s helping a friend. 

They lie there together and Shiro just can’t seem to relax. In another life, in another universe, Shiro could fantasize that there was more to this, that there was something powerful in being in a bed with Keith. 

She wants this. She wants to feel Keith forever. Shiro closes her eyes and just feels it, the perfect press of Keith against her back, the way they shape together so perfectly. Desire sings in Shiro’s veins. She just wants to be close. 

Touch has never burned so brightly before. 

-

Shiro’s not sure how long they lie there, how long she feels like she’s in agony. Keith seems content to just be still with her, but with every passing moment, it feels nearly unbearable for Shiro. And, clearly, Keith can’t ignore it anymore. 

“Is this okay?” Keith asks, her breath ghosting against the back of Shiro’s neck. 

“Yes,” Shiro says, her voice high and thready. 

“You’re all tense,” Keith says. 

Shiro forces her shoulders to relax. It leaves her melting into Keith’s touch and Shiro’s seized with the familiar urge to just squirm back against her, to slide her body down against one of Keith’s thighs and rock against it, to grasp one of her hands and bring it down, down, down—

Shiro stares at the wall with undisguised alarm, her heart thundering. The prickling, teasing sensation that’s rippling through her isn’t just a desire to be touched, she realizes with a small dip of dread. 

She thought she’d gotten a handle on her feelings for Keith. Apparently not. 

She really might start crying. Instead, she squirms. 

She can’t stop moving. Keith tries to move with her, to accommodate her, likely thinking that Shiro just needs to get comfortable. But it’s torture. It’s torture to feel Keith move when Shiro’s imagined so many scenarios where Keith is in this very bed with her, where Keith is moving, where they’re moving together. 

Sparring with Keith is so much like how Shiro imagines sex with Keith would be. A give and take. An ebb and flow. A dance. Keith, powerful above her, pressing her down. Keith, surging to meet her. Keith, watching her so closely, ready to meet whatever Shiro has to give her. 

Shiro knows the powerful weight of Keith’s body, just how strong she is, how graceful, how impossibly vibrant. It is torture to think of Keith in bed with her and touching her. 

And now that Shiro’s thought about sex with Keith, she can think of little else. She can feel the way her body is responding. 

She usually is so good at compartmentalizing. 

“I think something’s wrong,” Shiro says in a low voice. 

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, her response immediate and determined. “Shiro,” she says, her voice softening. “What’s wrong? Let me help—” 

“I just… There must be something about that flower,” Shiro says, clenching her thighs together. “That’s different for humans… I don’t think—” She bites her lip against the stab of pleasure that pulses through her when Keith shifts, tightening her hold on her. She clenches her thighs together harder, squirming this time. “I’m…” 

No Olkari scientist would let her take such a flower if this is the end result. This is not what Shiro envisioned when Lafa described boundless energy and heightened senses of the ciho flower. Adrenaline or endorphins— she wonders if Lafa might be mistaken on what the flower is meant to do. Shiro can’t imagine anyone would willingly give the Captain of the Atlas what amounts to an aphrodisiac. 

Because that’s what it is, Shiro realizes with a sinking feeling. 

An aphrodisiac. 

“Shiro,” Keith says. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll—” 

Shiro grits her teeth against her words, wanting to swallow it back. There’s no reason heightened senses should mean the inability to keep her mouth shut. But the more she squirms, the more she focuses on the weight of Keith’s touch, of her being so near, all Shiro can think about is saying something, anything, _begging_ Keith to fuck her. 

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath. She forces herself to let it back out again. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, and she sounds like she’s the one begging. “Please?” 

“I want you to fuck me,” Shiro says in a rush. 

As soon as she says it, she wishes she could drag it back again. She feels Keith tense up behind her. “Wh—” 

“Sorry,” Shiro says in a rush, although she’s not sorry for the feelings at all, only that she’s said it like this. She squirms. “The flower— I think it’s—” She clenches her eyes shut, feeling sweat on her forehead. “It’s that.” 

“Atlas,” Keith calls out, listening for the familiar answering chirp Atlas issues whenever someone who isn’t Shiro communicates with her. “Have you run anything on Shiro? Her vitals?” 

Shiro clenches her eyes shut, unable to process the words Keith calls to Atlas. Keith sits up but keeps one hand on Shiro’s side. It’s comforting but devastating. Shiro wants to grab it and guide it down. She wants to sob, beg forgiveness to Keith for daring to acknowledge her desire like this. 

Not like this. This isn’t what she wanted. 

She knows, she _knows_ that this isn’t what Keith wants. Maybe a small part of Shiro hoped that maybe someday she could broach this topic, talk to Keith about it. That maybe someday Keith would be willing to give her a chance.

Not like this, though. Now she’s just a needy idiot, demanding and inappropriate. 

Whatever Atlas conveys to Keith likely confirms it. She hears Keith hiss out through her teeth, her hand flexing where it lies on Shiro’s side. Shiro just wants to turn around and bury her face against Keith’s belly. 

“Shiro,” Keith says. “Shiro, it’s okay. We just… we just need to ride it out.”

“You should leave. Or knock me out,” Shiro mumbles. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Keith says, gripping her side. Keith is so good, so loyal, and it’s torturous to feel her, to smell her, to have her so close and know she can’t have her. “I’m here. If you want me.” 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. Laughable thought. _If you want me._ As if she could ever want anything or anyone else but Keith here with her. 

It’s stranger still when Keith pulls Shiro back into her arms, holding her. Even now, still holding her. Shiro can’t make sense of it. She wonders if the flower’s scent will ever leave her head, if its thrall is still growing inside her, more and more. Maybe she’ll never break free.

“I’m never leaving you,” Keith says so fiercely, her eyes narrowed with the force of such a promise. Keith ducks her head, forehead bumping against Shiro’s shoulder, and it sends sparks flying through Shiro. 

Shiro gasps again. Keith backs off but Shiro chases after her, seeking that point of connection. She squirms, rocking her hips just a little, seeking some sort of friction. She’s so shaky it’s nearly overwhelming.

“Shiro—” 

Shiro dives at Keith then, kissing her. It’s fumbling and off-center and Keith makes a light trill of shock when Shiro grabs at her. 

“Shiro!” 

Shiro bites Keith’s bottom lip with a low moan, her body on fire. All the warmth, all the affection she feels floods through her. And just as quickly she shoves herself away from Keith, nearly slamming herself back against the wall. 

“Fuck, Keith—” 

Keith looks shellshocked, her eyes wide and her lips damp. Fuck, damp because Shiro kissed her. Shiro makes a high-pitched sound when Keith licks her lips, almost instinctively, and then turns bright red. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, trembling. “You’re just— you’re just so—” 

“It’s okay,” Keith says, still looking stunned. She reaches for Shiro, steadying her, and hisses. “Shiro, you’re burning up.” 

Shiro doesn’t know what that has to do with heightened senses or flowers or adrenaline. All she knows is Keith is close and it’s intoxicating. Every inch of Shiro’s body feels electric, buzzing and responding to Keith’s very presence. 

She wants to crawl closer. She wants to lick every inch of Keith, touch her, be touched by her. It’s nothing that Shiro hasn’t felt before but it feels like it’s been turned up to eleven. She wants so desperately, so deeply, that it’s just a part of her.

Shiro knows longing well, after all. It’s as much a part of her as her own heartbeat. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Shiro whispers, staring into Keith’s eyes. “What you’ve always done to me.” 

“You’re—” Keith’s expression turns fragile, wavering. “You don’t—” 

“I think about you all the time,” Shiro says, feeling fuzzy at the edges. There’s only Keith. There’s only the spots where Keith is touching her, all the places where Keith should be touching her. 

Keith smooths a hand across Shiro’s forehead and Shiro whimpers. 

Keith looks torn between coming closer and pulling away. “Atlas,” she calls again, speaking with Shiro’s ship. Shiro can’t make sense of what she’s saying. “Her temperature—” 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, pawing at Keith’s shirt. She grips it tight. 

Keith makes a soft sound. “It’s going to be okay, Shiro.” She curses. “This is happening too quickly, you were fine just a while ago—” 

“I’m fine,” Shiro says, crawling closer to Keith, gripping tight. “I just— need you. Near me. Just be here. That hasn’t changed.” 

Keith takes a deep, steadying breath. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Keith says, her voice tight in her throat. 

Shiro shakes her head, hands pawing at Keith, fingers bumping over every line of her body, seeking but unable to find purchase on her workout shirt, to rip it away so she can get at Keith herself. 

“It hurts.” 

“What—” Keith asks, startling.

“When you’re not touching me,” Shiro whispers. “God. Keith. I just want you to touch me all the time.” 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith says, distressed. “I need to break your fever—” 

Keith is gentle, her touch light. She skims her fingers down Shiro’s arm, touching over her knuckles, then across her palm when Shiro turns her hand, seeking that connection. It’s an innocent, almost wholesome touch, and that alone makes Shiro want to cry. 

She catches Keith’s hand, threading their fingers together. Just holding her hand. She watches Keith take a breath, her lips parting as she looks at their fingers. 

“I’ll touch you,” Keith says. “If it’ll help. I don’t— I don’t want you to be in pain, Shiro.” 

Shiro nods, body trembling with the thought of Keith’s hands on her. 

“I’m having Atlas contact the labs. Discreetly,” Keith adds, although Shiro is hardly listening. “She’s monitoring you. You have a fever, Shiro. Your heartrate is too quick. You need to stay calm.” 

“I’m calm,” Shiro says. She is, despite the humming desperation singing through her. “I just— want you, Keith.” 

“I’m here,” Keith says but looks pained. 

The distant part of Shiro reminds herself that Keith doesn’t want this, could never want this. Shiro is pushing too far, too hard. But she _wants_ and Keith is so near. Nothing feels right except for the points where Keith touches her. Shiro lets Keith touch her, situate her. She lies out on her bed again and Keith spoons against her, burying her face against Shiro’s shoulder.

“I’ll take care of you,” Keith says, soft. The vow makes Shiro shiver. “I won’t let anything happen to you again, Shiro.” 

“Keith—” 

“Is this helping, Shiro?” Keith asks, one hand petting through her hair and the other across her belly. 

It’s both helping and not helping, both relief and torture. Keith touches her and it feels so good, but it’s not how she wants to be touched. She can feel the line of Keith’s body against hers, the way Keith spoons around her, and all she wants to do is feel every inch of her.

“Take your clothes off,” Shiro says.

Keith sucks in a breath. “Shiro—”

“I just… I want—” Shiro bites her lip. “The clothes feel strange on my skin. I just— I want to feel you. That’s all.” 

That much is true. With every passing moment, sensation is nearly too much. There’s only the centering presence of Keith’s hands on her. The clothes are too much, the blankets beneath her too much. The very air around them feels like too much, everything too feverish and hot and demanding. She’s suffocating. Only Keith can save her. 

Keith always saves her. 

“Please,” Shiro whispers. “I wouldn’t— you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t— if I didn’t really need it.”

That much is true, too. Keith makes the softest sound of distress.

“Okay,” Keith finally relents. 

She shifts away then and Shiro whimpers, actually whimpers, at the loss of contact. Keith plants a hand on Shiro’s hip, holding her steady while she fiddles with her shirt, squirming out of it one-handed. 

Shiro turns her head to watch her, breathless with how beautiful Keith looks— her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, her lips bitten-red by Keith’s own teeth. She exposes her body in inches as she strips, the perfect line of her throat, the slope of her shoulders, the hair on her forearms, the perfect perk of her nipples as she exposes her breasts, the flat line of her stomach and the sweet trail of hair from belly button down, the criss-cross of scars dusting over her skin. 

She discards her shirt and then her pants, her underwear. She’s naked and it’s like a thunderbolt through Shiro. She can’t stop staring. She thinks her mouth might actually be open.

Keith chuckles, nervous and trilling, her cheeks flushing such a deep red that they’re nearly purple. “Um—” 

She reaches for Shiro next, helping her to strip off her clothes. 

Shiro was a fool to think them both being naked would help. She can’t stop staring at Keith, sure what effects Keith has on her is clear all over her body. She trembles, the air feeling too hot, too suffocating. She swallows down thickly and squirms. 

“I’m here,” Keith says, pulling her close. 

She spoons against Shiro’s back again and it’s torture, careful and perfect torture. Where Keith’s touches were so sure before, now they’re tentative— sweet in a way, her hands shaking when they rest against Shiro’s bare belly. Shiro stares down at Keith’s hands, at the perfect shape of them, how good they look against Shiro’s body. 

She can feel all the points where Keith touches her. It’s overwhelming. 

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Keith says in a murmur. “This will pass and it… you’ll be okay. I’m sorry. I’m—” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Shiro says quickly. She squirms. “I’m the one who should.” 

“This isn’t your fault!”

“Not this,” Shiro says, clenching her eyes shut. “All of this. I’m sorry,” Shiro says, voice threadbare. “I know you don’t want me and yet—” 

Keith makes a low growling sound, punching out of her. “Shiro, of course I—” 

She doesn’t complete the thought, but the words are so thick with emotion that Shiro has to brace herself before she turns her head, seeing the fierce burn of Keith’s eyes. Keith stares back at her, eyes wide, her body held taut against Shiro’s. 

Shiro’s so overwhelmed by the sensations all around her, that she nearly misses how Keith presses up against her, how if Shiro focuses she can feel just how quickly Keith is breathing, how fast her heart’s beating. 

“I do,” Keith says when their eyes meet. “But you don’t. Not usually. Right now, maybe, but—” 

“Keith,” Shiro says, realization slamming through her. “It’s not— it’s not just a ‘right now’ thing.” 

“The flower,” Keith says.

Shiro shakes her head. “It heightens— it doesn’t create.”

“You don’t know anything about that plant,” Keith says. “You can’t know.” 

“I’ve… I’ve always—” 

Keith frowns at her, like she’s not even sure what she’s hearing. Shiro lifts a shaky hand, cupping Keith’s cheek. It’s overwhelming, that differing sensation between skin and scar, the soft curve of Keith’s face, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. “I understand if you can’t believe me right now, but it’s— I do want you. All the time. I care about you so much. I lo—” 

Keith lurches forward, kissing her with a small gasp, clinging to Shiro. It sends the full weight of Keith’s body pressing down against Shiro’s as they sprawl out across the bunk. Shiro can’t hold back the urge to rock her hips up, slotting down against Keith’s thigh and writhing. She tries to resist it, tries to focus just on the perfect weight of Keith’s lips against hers, but it’s too much. She trembles, moaning into the kiss.

“Tell me that when this is over,” Keith says when she pulls back. “I don’t want to hear it before that.” 

“Okay,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith’s hand lifts, brushing the hair from Shiro’s face. She looks torn, desire and concern warring across her expression. Shiro tries to focus on that and not the way Keith feels pressing to her chest to chest, the perfect flex of her thigh as Shiro presses her body down against it, the smear of her wetness across Keith’s skin. Keith must feel it, too, as if there could be any doubt about how affected Shiro is. 

“I wouldn’t want this with anyone else,” Shiro insists. “Please, Keith. Please— just touch me. Everywhere, any way. I don’t care. Just you, Keith.”

Keith bites her lip, barely holding back a groan. “You don’t— you don’t have to _beg me_ , Shiro.”

“Don’t I?” 

She feels like she’s holding just at the edge, about to fall. 

“I don’t know,” Keith whispers after a pause. “I don’t— I don’t want to be wrong. I don’t want it to be that you hate me after this.”

“I could never hate you,” Shiro says, breathless. “Keith… Never. _Never._ ” 

Keith looks like she might rattle apart. Shiro’s hand is equally as shaky as she lifts her hand, tucking a long piece of Keith’s hair behind her ear, fingers skimming down the line of her jaw. She’s so perfect, it’s nearly overwhelming. 

“Kiss me?” Shiro asks. 

Keith’s expression flickers. She’s clearly torn. 

But then she bows to Shiro. 

Keith’s kiss is tender. She’s sweet with it, focusing on the different sensations of it: the slide of her tongue, the ghost of her breath, the drag of her teeth. She tries it all, nibbling on Shiro’s bottom lip before licking into her mouth. Despite the gentleness of her kiss, there’s something possessive in it that Shiro can’t get enough of, how it fuels her onward as heat floods through her. She grips tight to Keith, whimpering as they kiss, wanting to touch every inch of her and feel every inch of her. 

She loves Keith so much that it’s nearly suffocating, every pinprick of light inside her bursting bright because of Keith. For Keith. Only Keith. 

Keith is so good, so gentle, so strong. She’s powerful and protective, holding onto Shiro like she’s something precious. Shiro might whimper again, although she isn’t entirely sure. Keith swallows it down with the softest press of her lips. 

The more time passes into their kiss, the bolder Keith gets. By the time she sucks Shiro’s tongue into her mouth, the kiss is anything but gentle. It feels primal, all of Shiro’s senses alive, focusing on the way their kiss turns dirty and deep, desire pulsing through Shiro’s body. 

“Keith,” she whispers into the kiss. 

They kiss like that, pressed together. Keith holds her, guides her, and when she shifts her thigh up purposefully between Shiro’s legs, Shiro doesn’t hesitate to press down against her. She rides against Keith’s thigh as they kiss, punctuating her gasps with breathy little moans as she writhes against her. The pleasure builds inside her body, rolling her hips to slide her cunt against Keith’s thigh. 

It's pathetically easy to come like that. Shiro feels it mounting and rides it out, moving in a frenzied pace as she kisses Keith, moaning and gasping, trying to feel all the sensations at once. Her orgasm crests and crashes through her and she tenses up, shuddering through the pleasure as she writhes against Keith’s thigh.

Keith breaks the kiss just to watch her, pupils blown wide. “Fuck, Shiro—”

“ _Keith,_ ” Shiro moans, rolling her hips down. 

She slumps down, pressing her useless mouth against Keith’s shoulder, glancing over a scar before settling at her neck, nuzzling and licking at her skin. The taste is perfect, the feeling is perfect. She wants to feel every inch of Keith’s body, to know every sensation like this. 

Keith drags one hand through her hair, fingertips circling in gentle swirls across her scalp. It makes Shiro feel so close to overstimulation, hyper-sensitive and shuddering through the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

Keith’s other hand smooths down Shiro’s spine, and lower, cupping her ass and dragging her in closer. 

“You’re so—” Keith doesn’t finish the thought, tugging so gently on Shiro’s hair to tip her face away from her neck so she can lean in to kiss her. Shiro’s happy to oblige, opening her mouth to Keith and moaning as Keith presses in closer. 

She’s overwhelmed with all the things she wants, her body keyed up. The one orgasm hasn’t done anything to alleviate the feelings burning inside of her. She hadn’t realized just how starved for touch she was, real touch, until she was in Keith’s arms. And now, she never wants to leave that hold. 

“Touch me,” Shiro mouths against Keith’s lips. 

Keith shivers, hand squeezing at her ass. But she’s obedient, quick to follow Shiro’s command: her other hand drops down between them, dragging down her belly and lower. Shiro focuses on how it feels, her callused fingertips dragging over her stomach, her pubic hair, lower still. Her fingers slide across Shiro’s cunt, getting wet, and Shiro shudders. 

Keith is slow and gentle even here, folding over her cunt without actually touching her clit. Maybe it’s for the best, because one touch against her might make her spark into a flame that’ll never extinguish, but it’s so close to teasing that Shiro can’t hold back a soft whimper. 

“… On your back, Shiro,” Keith whispers, and nudges her gently with her shoulder. 

Shiro does, rolling from her side onto her back. She holds tight enough to Keith to bring her with her, unwilling to disconnect in any way. Keith laughs at the sudden shift in equilibrium, only barely managing to catch herself on one hand before she comes crashing down hard against Shiro. Not that Shiro would have minded.

Keith’s other hand slips against her cunt, playing with her in a way that only makes Shiro feel a building frustration, a burning desire to have Keith inside her, to fuck her, to be so close to her they’ll never part again. 

“Keith,” Shiro says.

“I’m here,” Keith says and kisses her, pressing down against her body. Her fingers slide down, playing at her hole. She doesn’t push into her body, but swirls around her, teasing, and then finally drags up to circle over her clit. 

Shiro gasps, broken and devastating, her entire body shuddering. Shiro’s hips swivel up, seeking the touch, squirming and writhing and spreading her legs wider— anything, anything just to feel Keith closer. 

And Keith does it again, swiping her thumb over her now, spreading her and touching at her with unhurried swirls of her fingers over her clit. Even though Shiro’s ready for it this time, it’s still the most overwhelming thing she’s ever felt, all her senses heightened to near devastating levels. 

Shiro’s so wet that her body opens easily to Keith’s fingers as she presses two inside. Shiro arches anyway, her heart thundering up into her throat, and the moan that punches out of her is near painful. 

“Just relax,” Keith says. “I’ll take care of you, Shiro. I’ll— I’ll make you feel good.” 

“You always do,” Shiro says. “Keith…” Her hand reaches out, tangling in Keith’s hair. The feeling of it is luxurious, soft against her fingers, silky and dark. “Knowing you is the best thing in my life.”

Keith stills at that, like the words somehow shock her. It makes something small flare inside Shiro’s heart, a reminder that she has to say it all more. If Keith can even doubt, then Shiro hasn’t been doing enough. 

She tugs once and Keith comes to her, moving close to her and kissing her. It’s slow and tender and Shiro feels Keith from all points of her body— the way their lips press together, the gentle weight of Keith’s body on hers, her fingers curled up inside her. 

They kiss sloppily as Keith fingers inside her, moving in slow, shallow thrusts, then twisting in deeper. Shiro can’t help but clench around her when Keith presses closer, her thumb pressing against her clit. Shiro rides it out, rocking in time to the way Keith moves with her. 

It's a tentative pace, but one that Shiro commits to memory— the flex of her thighs, the shift of her body against the mattress. The room smells just as the Atlas always smells, but now with the scent of sex, of Keith’s hair against her cheek. Shiro can hardly breathe, the pleasant weight of Keith against her focusing her. She kisses Keith, the luxurious drag of their mouths together, the lick of Keith’s tongue. 

“How are you feeling?” Keith asks when they draw back, Keith pressing another tentative kiss to the curve of Shiro’s jaw. “Enough?”

“Not nearly,” Shiro breathes, wriggling. “I just— I never have enough of you.”

The words make Keith flush, or maybe it’s just then that she focuses on touching Shiro, on having her fingers inside Shiro. Her eyes are so dark, almost Galra-gold at the edges, her bangs damp where they cling to her sweaty forehead, her dark brows furrowing. 

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath when Keith licks her jaw, just the swipe of her tongue as she works her way down, kissing and biting at her neck. Each touch is a new sensation, the prick of fangs making Shiro gasp, the drag of her lips down the column of her neck making her shudder. It’s so much at once, too many points of contact, and Shiro wants to be overwhelmed like this forever.

She feels like she’s burning up, but it’s somehow perfect. Like this, she can feel all the ways Keith touches her, all the ways Keith is here. She can feel the brush of her hair against her cheek as Keith shifts closer, the ghost of her breath on her feverish skin. 

“Focus, Shiro,” Keith whispers because maybe she can sense that Shiro is starting to drift, that she’s feeling overwhelmed. She presses a kiss to Shiro’s shoulder and looks up at her. “Focus on me.”

“Always,” Shiro says, her response immediate and unembarrassed. 

Keith blushes all the same, but her smile is gentle, like she’s proud of Shiro. She kisses her shoulder again, a spark of sensation pulsing through Shiro at the point of contact. 

“If anything feels like too much, tell me,” Keith says. “But just pay attention to me. How I’m making you feel.” 

Shiro nods, holding her breath as Keith kisses her chest, working down past her collarbone. Her fingers move again, pushing in and out, thrusting in that same steady pace she set before. Shiro tries to focus on that feeling, on how wet she is, on how she sinks down onto Keith’s touch. Just how good Keith feels inside her, the spread of her fingers, the perfect twist, the press of her thumb across her cunt. Her thighs tremble as she parts her legs, holding herself open to Keith. 

And then Keith’s mouth curls around one nipple, suckling once but barely lingering. Shiro gasps, but Keith’s already moving on, licking down her stomach. Her free hand cups Shiro’s hip, holding her in position as she mouths at each defined ab. Shiro’s gulping down air, her belly and chest heaving, but Keith hardly seems to mind. 

She seems determined now, her brow furrowing, her eyes burning. She looks like she’s on fire, too, like she’s feeling the same heat that Shiro’s feeling. Or, maybe this is just how Keith was always going to be in bed— relentless, determined, and perfect. Wanting to make Shiro feel good and focused only on that task. 

Shiro can see the trajectory Keith’s taking, but nothing can compare her to the moment when Keith presses her mouth up against her cunt, licking over her. 

“Fuck,” she gasps at the first swipe of Keith’s mouth. She arches, stretched wide by Keith’s perfect fingers, her body so wet, so full. 

And Keith purrs. Shiro’s heard her do it before, but it’s nothing compared to feeling it against her body. Keith’s eyes are so dark and she’s looking up right at Shiro as she presses her mouth up against her cunt, licking around where her fingers enter Shiro, and _purring._. 

The vibrations rattle up through Shiro and she shudders with a broken, hitching gasp. And Keith smiles, victorious and so, so pleased with herself. She starts purring louder, dragging her tongue over Shiro’s cunt, drinking her down and fucking her fingers into her.

The combination is too much. Shiro is already overwhelmed, so sensitive. The combination of Keith’s mouth, her fingers, her purring, sends Shiro toppling over the edge, coming with a sharp cry and her fingers tight in Keith’s hair, yanking her in closer.

Keith’s purr hitches and she moans, pleased, and laps her tongue over Shiro’s body, fucking her fingers into her as she licks over her, like nothing gives her more pleasure than making Shiro come like this. 

Shiro pants through her orgasm, shuddering and rocking down to meet Keith. The entire time, Keith keeps her eyes on her, watching her. There’s no denying the Galra-gold now, the possessive glint as she purrs, how deep and guttural it goes— almost more growl than purr. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. Already the pleasure is building again, that need for _more._ She’s never felt like this before, so close to the edge so soon after coming. 

She doesn’t want Keith to stop. She wants Keith to take all of her. 

Keith smooths one hand over her thigh and that’s almost too much. She’s purring still, dark eyes trained on Shiro. “You’re so… fucking hot when you come.”

Shiro huffs a breath, fingers curling and uncurling in Keith’s hair. “You— you look good between my legs.” 

Keith grins then, her lips shiny and her teeth glinting, and it’s the hottest thing Shiro’s ever seen. 

“You still need more, don’t you?” Keith asks, drawing her fingers out from inside Shiro. It’s the worst feeling of emptiness and Shiro makes a low sound that hitches up as Keith sucks her fingers into her mouth, tasting Shiro. 

Keith doesn’t wait for Shiro’s response. She draws her fingers from her mouth and ducks back down to Shiro. Keith purrs in delight, licking in a wet slide across her cunt, her lips pillowing against her. Her fingers spread Shiro open, the touch soft enough to make Shiro feel crazy. 

This time, Keith teases her tongue inside her, lapping along her hole and pushing in. It feels good, unfairly good, and Shiro only needs a few moments before she’s trembling all over again. 

And Keith’s purr goes louder. Shiro meant what she said— Keith looks good between her legs, but most of all, she looks happy. Shiro can only describe it as possessive happiness, licking over Shiro, her chest rumbling with a sound that’s purely Galra. 

Keith is so focused, too, touching Shiro all over— lapping across her cunt, suckling once on her clit, then darting back down to tease at her hole, fucking into her. It’s all a perfect feeling, overwhelming, but before Shiro can chase the friction of it, Keith’s focusing elsewhere. 

“Keith,” she groans, both pleasure and frustration, her fingers twisted up tight in Keith’s hair. 

Keith pulls back enough to say, “Focus on me, Shiro.”

Shiro does. Or, she tries. She feels the perfect silk of Keith’s hair, the soft slide of her mouth. She feels Keith’s breath on her skin, her purr rumbling across her cunt. Keith’s fingers slide over her, touching over her, spreading her open, sliding her fingers down. She thumbs at her clit in a slow circle, then swirls her fingers to push into her hole alongside her mouth. 

With each swipe of Keith’s tongue, Shiro feels her pleasure build. She wonders what it is about this feeling pulsing through her that makes it feel like it just keeps climbing, like it’s exponential and improbable. 

“Keith— Keith, wait,” Shiro pants. 

Keith stops immediately, drawing away from her. Shiro bites her lip, shaking her head and clinging tight to her hair.

“No, I mean— I want—”

“Tell me what you want,” Keith says, so serious. Her hair is a dark halo around her, her eyes burning brighter than the night sky. Shiro loves her so infinitely that it’s nearly painful, the deepest sensation in her body. 

Every touch, every sensation, every thought, every breath— it’s just building to that feeling of love for Keith. Keith is everything. Keith is cosmic. 

Shiro tugs helplessly on Keith’s hair, unsure even how to articulate what it is she needs. Keith rises to her, her purr quieter as she does. 

Shiro cradles her face, cupping her cheeks, and kisses her. She can taste herself on Keith’s lips, her chin damp with her, and Shiro licks her clean before deepening the kiss, just luxuriating in holding her, in having her. 

God, she just wants to have her. She just wants to be Keith’s. 

She wonders if she can convey that through kiss alone, through touch alone. She holds Keith, fingers sinking into her hair and holding so tight, cradling her close, angling her body up. She holds Keith against her, one leg looping around Keith’s hips to keep her pressed there. 

Her hand drops, touching at Keith, feeling just how wet she is in turn and Keith shudders, as if overwhelmed by the thought of her own pleasure.

“You too,” Shiro insists, her body quivering apart, her heart thundering. Keith’s. She just wants to be Keith’s. 

Only Keith’s. Forever Keith’s. 

Keith kisses her, but it quickly becomes sloppy and uncoordinated as Shiro fingers over her cunt, slicking her fingers up with evidence of Keith’s arousal, of just how badly Keith wants her, too. It’s so easy for her to slip one and then two fingers inside Keith’s body, watching her arch and gasp, panting against Shiro’s mouth. 

“But I need—” Keith pants.

“What?”

“To focus on you,” Keith says and moans when Shiro kisses her. She’s purring again, louder this time, and she rocks her hips down to sink down on Shiro’s fingers, letting herself get stretched wide by Shiro’s touch. 

Keith reaches between them, too, touching Shiro again, fucking into Shiro in time to their thrusts. The angles are strange like this but Shiro doesn’t want to part from Keith, doesn’t want to stop kissing her, to stop touching her. 

Shiro comes like that, fingers buried in Keith and moaning weakly against her open mouth. It’s clumsy, imperfect, but Keith seems delighted to have managed it, sucking on Shiro’s bottom lip and purring so loud that Shiro feels it rattling through her bones. 

“You’re beautiful, you’re so handsome, Shiro,” Keith whispers, reverential and overfull. Shiro blinks her eyes open to Keith’s glassy gaze, like she’s on the verge of crying. “I just— I love you. I love you so much—”

Shiro’s not supposed to say it back but her body burns. She can see it in Keith’s eyes— that, somehow, she still doesn’t believe that Shiro could possibly want her, that this is all some sort of illusion, that once Shiro comes back to herself, it could be impossible that she wants Keith. 

Shiro touches Keith’s face, thumb pressing into the divot the scar makes on her cheek. So much devotion in one little body, someone so precious and so strong. 

“I’ll say it,” Shiro whispers. “I’ll tell you when this is over. Believe me when I do. Trust me.” 

Keith whimpers then and kisses her, slow and desperate and needy. She touches Shiro, chasing her orgasm with another one, and Shiro didn’t know it was possible for her body to feel such pleasure all at once, in so short a time, and be so overwhelmed and full of love for one person. 

“I trust you,” Keith says gently when she stops kissing her, pressing her forehead to Shiro’s. They’re damp and sweaty, Keith’s fingers still buried inside her, and Shiro somehow still wants. 

Shiro smiles at her, something fragile passing between them, and when she kisses Keith again, it’s sweeter still. Keith rocks against her, and comes with a quiet gasp against Shiro’s mouth, writhing against her. 

The world fades in and out at the edges, overwhelming sensation and touch. Shiro clings to Keith, touches her, kisses her. They move together, and it’s never enough. Shiro loses time to the touch of Keith’s body to hers, loses focus to anything that isn’t just Keith here with her. 

She can’t wait to say the words back to Keith. Her heart’s soaring with the realization that Keith wants her too, that Keith loves her, that Keith is _here_. 

She kisses Keith, swallowing every sound she makes, and feels like she’s burning up. 

-

Shiro wakes with a startled breath. In the time she’s been sleeping, Keith’s dressed her again, the soft cotton luxurious against her skin. Atlas must have pumped cold air into her quarters to counteract her fever, because there’s still a lingering chill in the air. 

Her eyes find Keith immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looks small, fragile in a way that Shiro’s never seen before, hunched in on herself with her arms crossed. She brightens when she sees Shiro awake but doesn’t immediately reach for her. 

“Hey,” Keith says, voice low. “You’re awake—”

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, lifting her hand and reaching for her before she can even think to stop it. She hesitates, hand hovering. “I—” 

Keith takes her hand and Shiro remembers how to breathe. There’s still that spark of awareness at the touch, devastating and mundane and perfect, and it makes Shiro nearly shiver. But it’s not overwhelming. She doesn’t feel like she’s going to cry just for the touch of it.

“Your fever broke while you were sleeping,” Keith says. “Atlas was watching you. I have some data about that flower you took—” 

“Keith,” Shiro says and Keith stops. 

“Yeah,” Keith sighs. Her expression wobbles. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I—” 

She doesn’t finish the words. She folds into Shiro easily and Shiro is there to catch her, sitting up and hugging her. She holds Keith tight, marveling at the way she fits into her arms. Shiro will never understand what she did to deserve Keith. She doesn’t know but she’s grateful to the universe, despite everything, that Keith is in her life, that she gets to be here in this moment, holding the love of her life.

She presses her face into Keith’s hair, inhaling slowly. Keith, Keith everywhere and everything. 

“Can I say it now?” she murmurs into Keith’s hair.

Keith gasps. “What—”

“What you wouldn’t let me say,” Shiro says, drawing away to look into Keith’s eyes. “Will you let me say it now?” 

“I—” Keith touches her forehead, smoothing the hair away from her face and checking for a fever, checking for any signs that Shiro isn’t herself, as if she hasn’t been herself the entire time— just heightened, just overwhelmed. 

Keith looks softer in the darkness of the room, her eyes bright. Hopeful, Shiro realizes. Despite it all, waiting. 

“I love you too, Keith,” Shiro says. “I—” 

She doesn’t get a chance to say more before Keith trills and pushes up, catching Shiro’s face in her hands and kissing her breathless. Every touch is a spark of light, almost too much to bear, not for the oversensitivity of it, but because it’s _Keith_ who is touching her. It is Keith cradling Shiro’s face in her hands, Keith whose lips are pressed against hers, Keith who fits so perfectly in Shiro’s arms, Keith who pushes Shiro down onto the bed and crawls up after her. 

Keith, only Keith. Perfect, glorious, wonderful Keith. 

Shiro thought that longing would forever be a part of her, would be the intrinsic part of her soul forever. Not now, it seems.

On the astral plane, their very souls touched. Shiro thinks of it as she kisses Keith. Maybe there was always going to be a part of Keith left inside of Shiro’s heart, no matter what might happen. 

“I love you,” Shiro says again, feeling the way the breath fills her lungs, the way the words form on her lips, the way her mouth moves against Keith’s, unwilling to pull away but unable not to say it. 

She feels Keith’s trill this time, the way her purr starts coiling up in her chest. She feels Keith’s fingers sink into her hair and pull her in closer, nearly gasping for it. 

“Me too,” Keith whispers. “Me too, Shiro. _Shiro—_ ” 

And really, Shiro thinks, there’s no better feeling than this.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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